


Hallowed Lover

by FictionDereliction



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blood Magic, Character Bashing, Consort Harry Potter, Courting Rituals, Dark Harry, Dark Harry Potter, Evil Harry Potter, Evil Voldemort (Harry Potter), F/F, F/M, Gen, Harry Potter is a Little Shit, Harry is a Tease, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Voldemort (Harry Potter), Powerful Harry, Powerful Harry Potter, Psychopaths In Love, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Red-Haired Harry Potter, Smart Harry, Smart Harry Potter, Smitten Voldemort, Traditions, Voldemort Is Not A Nice Person, Voldemort Is Soft For Harry Potter, eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26421943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FictionDereliction/pseuds/FictionDereliction
Summary: The Wizarding world is steeped in tradition, and some things are sacred. Family grimoires are one such thing. Magical talents and prodigies are another. Presenting your eligibility for courtship is something most pure-bloods and highborn take as a matter of course upon their majority, if they're not betrothed already. Despite this, no one expects a decidedly different Harry Potter to throw his hat in the ring. Let alone that he’d register as a consort not a lord.ORHarry Potter wants a husband to dote on him while he plots muggle domination and ignores responsibility.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 89
Kudos: 675





	1. White Knight Redux

**Author's Note:**

> I love stories where Voldemort is as evil as he is in cannon, but an absolute marshmallow for Harry. Here, Voldemort isn't secretly misunderstood-he isn't a victim of Dumbledore, or misrepresented by light propaganda. He's violent, and destructive and greedy, but he's also so far above his peers in intellect and power they may as well be ants to him. He's lonely. 
> 
> My Harry is entirely ambivalent to the lives of others. He loves magic, hates muggles, and wants to be left alone to experiment with his magic in peace. He's also young, beautiful and selfish enough to want someone to stand with him while he does.
> 
> Chapter warnings: attempted sexual assault, mild torture, references to animal cruelty, child torture/trafficking/death

_Lavender met Harry (not Harry Potter, boy-who-lived, golden boy. Just harry) days after the announcement for the Yule ball was given, in fourth year. Initially, the idea of a ball had sent thrills through her. Like most witches, her heart felt a little flutter at the idea of being swept off her feet by an eager partner. She fantasised, briefly, about one of the pretty French boys giving her flowers and whispering things to her in his own tongue, smiling as she agreed to accompany them with only a token resistance. Even briefer-but still there-was her fantasy about the Bulgarians, maybe Krum, kissing her hard and telling her-not asking, telling-that they would be taking her, before storming off and leaving her heaving against a wall, contemplating what taking meant in this case…_

_And then her common sense had kicked in, and she’d shuddered at what this could mean for her. Unlike her fellow purebloods, who were either too composed to be accused of impropriety, or already betrothed, or blood traitors, she would be scrutinised horribly during the dance. She had a bubbly, flirty personality that edged the line of acceptable mannerisms for a pureblood. Her behaviour, her purity, had to be completely above reproach if she were to have any chance at finding a husband who was acceptable let alone tolerable when she came of age. And already her reputation (fabricated, slanderous, hurtful) was working against her. She was besieged with boys looking for an easy date. Muggleborns, who talked to her chest as they asked her to the dance, eyes barely meeting hers before flicking back down. Half-bloods who looked at her greedily (scornfully), wizarding enough to know her family and responsibilities, stupid enough to think her reputation was true regardless. Even the odd pureblood, who she promptly turned away on the principle that they had not sought the proper channels._

_She had already decided to return home anyway, more inclined to spend time with her parents in the years she had left before she had to make a home of her own. That decision however, did nothing to dissuade boys from approaching her anyway._

_On the night she met Harry she was returning from the Owlery. For once the corridors were empty of students, only the click of her heels keeping her company as she walked. The_

_portraits were sleeping, and in the cold, grey corridors, she could almost believe time had stopped. It was peaceful._

_And then a hand was slammed over her mouth. Hot breath burnt her neck from behind, her attacker panting as he pinned her to him tightly, snapping her arms to her sides with a whisper and a surge of magic. She was shoved roughly into one of the rooms she had just passed, and tears boiled in her eyes as her face met the wall, slammed against the stone as he pressed himself against her from behind._

_“What-?” she gasped, before her voice was stolen from her too._

_Russian, she thought. Durmstrang. She thought of her fantasy, innocent in the safety of her bed, and felt sick._

_Hands tugged at her robes, and she heard him grunt in annoyance as he struggled to work around the many heavy layers. She was terrified, mind straining to remember what advice she had been given for situations like this. Words and phrases trickled uselessly past her (walk with your wand out, portkey, core surge), but they were just as useless as her._

_Hands touched the skin of her ass, and her mind went blank. She thought of her mother’s dark eyes and father’s worried smile when puberty hit her hard and early. She thought of the type of man who’d want her after this, and she cried._

_And then a flash of red that lit up the room. Her skirts fell back down as the body behind her was jerked away, and she slumped to the floor as the spells that were on her were released. There was yelling, loud and foreign, before a quiet, answering hiss that made her shudder._

_The room shook, and a cold wave of...something...passed through her. She cowered on the floor, hands shaking as she stared blankly down, mind refusing to help her. Body refusing to move. Footsteps tapped closer, and she couldn't even flinch as the person spoke._

_“Lavender?”_

_She...did she know that voice?_

_“Lavender, can you look at me? Look, I’m putting my wand down, alright? Yours is by your feet, just look down and you’ll see it. I’m not touching you.Just look at me alright, I need to know if I need to get Pomphrey.”_

_“No! Not Pomphrey!”_

_She jerked around to face the person, blue eyes rolling, terrified. Harry Potter looked back at her calmly, smiling slightly as she recognised him._

_“No staff” he soothed, nodding agreeably. “But I need to know if you’re hurt.”_

_“...no” she managed, eyes drifting to the still body on the ground just beyond her classmate, before they were drawn back to his steady gaze. “Not physically.”_

_“Good” he said. “That’s very good.”_

_She felt like she’d be crying again if she could, but her eyes were dry and itchy. She wanted a hug, but her skin crawled at the thought of someone touching her. Silently, she pulled herself up, eyes drawn once again to the body sprawled on the floor without her consent. He looked remarkably peaceful, like he’d settled down for an impromptu nap._

_Harry flowed to his feet with a smoothness that made the hairs on her neck stand on end. She kept still as she watched him walk to the other boy, bare feet making no sound on the castle stone._

_“Is he dead?” the words tumbled out of her like something of a prayer, something like fear._

_Harry pressed one golden foot to the column of the boy’s throat, pressing down until the other boy began gasping for breath, air rasping wet and heavy. Useless under the weight of his unconsciousness and a single, slender foot._

_“No.”_

_“Oh-well, yes.. I-I thought...right.”_

_Harry looked at her, green eyes dark and knowing, before his face sharpened.He reached down and pulled the boys tongue between his teeth, pushing his jaw upwards with a sharp snap. Blood bubbled over his chin and without a word, Harry let some of it gather in a small glass tube, before stoppering it with a tiny cork. Picking up the body with a strength that surprised her, he slipped around her and out of the room before she could blink. Rushing after him, she saw him crouched over the body with his wand out, muttering something that sounded rather like ‘obliviate’, but produced a peculiar yellow mist instead of the colourless shockwave she knew to expect. He looked up at her, eyes soft and strangely compelling, and she found herself smiling as she saw what was about to happen. She thought maybe she was disassociating; she felt like she'd taken a step back from reality, tired and not-quite-present._

_“This is the hand he touched you with.” Harry offered, pulling the other’s arm out from under him and offering it up to her._

_“No thank you” she said. But she didn't know what she was refusing. Didn’t know why a tiny part of her told her to take the opportunity._

_Harry smiled, coy and knowing, before taking the hand in his own and bending the middle finger back with a swift snap._

_She jumped-heart thundering in her throat-but her feet took her closer. She had the thought that this wasn’t normal. That really, the only thing she knew about Harry Potter was that he was a vaguely prodigious magical powerhouse-and not much else. But Magic wound_

_sinuously around her, trickling like cool water into places she hadn’t realised she had, soothing wounds she’d long left to rot. Thoughts came slowly and half-formed, and vaguely, she was aware that she’d stopped crying._

_Harry snapped another finger, then another, until only the ring finger was left and she was so close she was leaning hip to shoulder against him. Dazedly she reached out and took the digit in her own shaking, slender hands. Harry’s own long fingers wrapped around hers, and the look she gave him as she felt the bone bend and snap under her own power was a brittle, powerful thing._

_She clutched at Harry’s hand like it held the answers, scared and angry and so, so tired. He touched her like she was precious, carefully pulling her away from the stairs, towards the dormitory, so gently she’d barely noticed the quick flick of his foot as he kicked the Durmstrang boy down the stairs before leaving._

_She fell asleep that night safe in her dormitory, nursing the cold fear inside of her with other things she’d never imagined before then. She thought of the relief she’d felt when she saw the foreign student tip down the stairs, the surprising vindication she’d felt when she snapped his finger-the same one he might have one day had a bonding ring on, a blessing he’d nearly stolen from her. She thought of the mind-bending terror his touch had brought her, still coiled around her heart and squeezing despite the shower she’d had and the spells she’d cast (beauty spells for exfoliation, leaving her sore and raw and bleeding onto her pyjamas). She thought of what could have been taken from her, what might have happened beyond the initial assault. A ruined life. A half-life. No life at all._

_She thought of Harry, the boy whose soul burnt like a dying star, wild and hungry. The contradiction with gentle hands and cruel eyes. She thought of him, and the boy at the bottom of the stairs, and more than her mother’s warnings and daddy’s advice had ever done, finally felt safe._

XxX

Harry smiled gently at the Muggle in front of him, crossing one long leg over the other as he leant back in his seat. The man in question - older, hard faced, used to being respected- had the same tight expression of displeasure most clients had upon meeting him. 

His suit was well tailored but uninspired, made to intimidate but having the unfortunate side effect of being obvious about it. Harry doubted anyone had ever told the muggle that. He twitched a little, wanting to do just that, but didn’t. Instead, he turned a rather bland expression on the only other person in the room with them, who, Harry noted with some amusement, was already sweating through his own well tailored suit.

‘Mr Lombardi’ he was introduced, ‘this is Mr Doe’. 

Harry, or Mr Doe, nodded pleasantly at Mr Lombardi, quite sure that the other had actually been arrogant enough to use his actual name. Lombardi ignored him, turning a displeased expression to the only other person he’d deemed worth talking to. Debatably.

‘Is this a joke?’

Harry’s middleman, the squib, looked affronted on his behalf, before his muddy eyes caught the sight Harry made sprawled half naked on the lounge, and he averted them quickly, flushing. 

‘Did you expect a suit or a gypsy? Because by your own admission, you’ve tried both and neither worked. I’m not sure what you’re implying.’

Lombardi faced Harry with hard eyes, lingering on the glimpse of lean muscle between swathes of silk, the wild tangle of long hair. His lips. He waved a calloused hand at him.

‘You brought a whore’.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but it was adorable how quickly Niles became angry on his behalf. Of course he wouldn’t show it, but Harry knew him well enough now to recognise the tells. A high spot of colour rose on pale cheeks, and Harry wanted to split them open with his teeth.

‘If your first thought upon meeting a vouched for associate, is that he is a whore, perhaps that speaks more to your proclivities than his inadequacy?’

The tension skyrocketed alarmingly. Harry was quite aware of the small gun the muggle had smuggled in, as well as Niles’ penchant for escalation. For a muggle of means and might, Lomardi really was quite touchy, especially for someone who had a previous association with the snarky squib. Harry didn’t want to find another Niles, he’d already invested three years in him. He had a toothbrush at his house. His daughter called him ‘unca’ Haddy’. 

‘Perhaps,’ said Harry, ‘we should move to the heart of the matter.’

Sneering, Lombardi went to say something no doubt snide, when he caught sight of the doorway beyond him and visibly bit his tongue. 

‘Yes’ he said. ‘Let’s’.

Harry hummed, flipping perfunctorily through the file he’d been given. He already knew what it said. Knew what the man wanted. How desperate he was. It was why he couldn’t be anything but amused at the man’s awful behaviour. He was an ant, biting the hand that crushed him, unaware he was already dead.

‘You know my price?’

He was offered a nod and a plush envelope which he slit with a sharp nail. The cheque inside had half as much again as he’d asked for, and he smiled a little, before plucking out the real prize. Two glass slides, and between them, a red spot of colour.

‘You get the other two when you’re done’ Lombardi said, and Harry politely ignored the suspicion he saw slink skittishly behind the man’s stern frown. 

He brought the glass to his face, ignoring the urge to pry between the slides with his tongue and run the flat of it against the red, and nodded, inhaling deeply.

‘Your gesture of goodwill is surprising, but noted.’ Harry murmured.

The man stared at him for half a second before Harry extrapolated, tapping the glass gently. 

‘Bold of you to slip yours in first.’

There was a flinch, small but there, and Harry wondered at the stupidity of men with egos. 

‘Did you bring both girls?’

He spoke before Lombardi could, and flicked his head to the door.

‘Yes. I-‘

‘To specifications?’

‘Yes-‘

‘Unseen?’

‘Yes!’

Harry grinned, sharp and hungry, and stood suddenly, demure demeanour gone. He slid the silky robe from his shoulders, ignoring the shuddering breath Niles gave and the bug eyed look on the ant’s face. Letting it pool at his feet as he moved, he slunk towards the other room.

He wondered how long it would take for the muggle to realise he couldn’t move. How quickly he’d realise his folly and panic pointlessly.

Slipping soundlessly from the parlour into the back room, he let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, small fat candles dotted sparsely about in corners. He laughed breathlessly as he saw the bodies on the bed, both children tucked carefully beneath the covers, sleeping peacefully. Each child had been lovingly washed and dressed, long hair gleaming in the candlelight. 

The one on the right looked like a cherub, with round chubby cheeks and long curly lashes. The other, also blonde, also precious, looked a pale imitation. Pale and far too thin, brittle skin bruised and clammy. Harry prodded at the girl, pushing her chapped lips into an imitation smile, before chortling.

‘Cheer up Poppet,’ he said. ‘Daddy loves you, you know?’ He flopped her head back and forth a few times before sighing, settling down. 

A quick glance over at the prettier, less sickly girl made him want to roll his eyes. The daft man had given her a teddy. He plucked it up, wondering briefly if Niles’ child would like it, before setting it to the side to think on later.

Humming, he stripped the girls, folding the dresses up neatly and putting them on the bedside table. He tugged the covers completely off, ignoring the way they shivered at the damp air, and gave one last perfunctory look around the room, making sure, as always, that nothing was out of place. 

The door had melded seamlessly into the wall, and when he checked, the appropriate rune clusters were alight. 

Centering himself, pushing away the anticipation that always took him when he did this, he pressed the tip of one sharpened thumbnail to each chest just below the sternum, pushing through the skin with a sharp pop. Almost immediately, blood welled up, and he wasted no time in dragging his nail down an approximate inch, pulling through skin and muscle with a small grunt.

Trembling a little, he raised one hand to his own sternum, digging under the skin there with a nail tip. Exhaling shakily, he brought his magic to bear, letting it simmer just beneath his skin. Black bloomed from the furthermost tips of his fingers, pooling together in the palm of each hand, before shooting down his arms and over his chest in a thick black band that throbbed riotously in time with his heart beat. Without pausing, he drew his nail along the band, which split less like skin and more like paper, all the way from the very centre of his chest to the very tip of his middle finger. He swapped hands and did the same to the other side, swallowing hard as the air bloomed sweet and coppery. He slid wet fingers back into the cuts he’d made on the girls, fidgeting a little until completely sure his blood was as intermingled with theirs as possible, before taking one last fortifying breath...and...pulling.

He was aware, vaguely, as he always was, what he looked like in that moment. Head thrown back, gasping, eyes glazed and unseeing as he shuddered violently in pain so deeply rooted in his very blood he wanted to faint from the absolute agony of it. His own blood, acting as a channel, lit up like white plasma, burning him to the bone.

Slowly, so slowly he felt the earth die a thousand deaths around them, a small line of red crawled from the chest of the girl on the right, inching across his own body one rebellious second at a time, before finally, finally, sinking into the chest of the girl on the left. 

There was no pause. No weighted second where the room felt still or heavy. Without the fanfare owed it, the healthy girl began to wizen and shrivel, mouth open in what would have been a scream could corpses scream. To his other side, the other girl grew healthy. Cheeks fattened, bruises faded. What had been a wet rattle became the deep breaths of sweet dreams and childhood. 

He had the presence of mind to break the connection before he collapsed, face forward on the mattress. The bedding- charmed impervious- collected the blood in a puddle where he lay. It was warm still, slick and somehow tacky all at one, and Harry wanted to paint himself with it. He giggled tiredly, wiggling one finger in a pool of it, dragging his arm painstakingly up and over to the homeless girl Lombardi had chosen as the sacrifice. He drew a wobbly smile over the leathery cheeks, before his trembling arm cramped and fell. Tired, cold and colder still as the blood dried and shock crept in, he could only smile as he saw the outline of a door appear on the far wall.

Niles stuck his head in, a blur of black against a white light, and Harry called him closer.

“Gi’ me twenty. ‘en Pepper up.” he slurred. ‘Cauldron o’ coffee. Cauldron. I sw’ to Mer-’ 

And then he knew no more. 

XxX

Harry ran his thumb from belly to chin, ensuring the tiny row of hooks keeping his under robe fastened sat flat and unseen on the fabric. Stark white and fitted, the robe covered him from ankle to jaw, leaving only his face and hands bare. Shrugging on a long green cloak, he pulled it closed so that only the barest hint of white showed at his extremities, before tucking his wand in his holster and turning to stare at the gloves he knew he should wear. Opaleye leather and pearly white, he knew they were as soft as butter. He’d spent a fair few galleons on the dragonskin instead of the far more common calf or snake, making a point to start spoiling himself with his frankly ludicrous fortune. 

_But_ , he thought exasperatedly, _I don’t think I can actually bring myself to wear them_.

It was a little odd, he knew, to be so particular about his own hands. For sure, they were nothing exceptional to look at. Fine boned like the rest of him. Calloused. Scarred. The only slightly peculiar thing of note was the length and colour of his nails, which while unusual for a boy, was nothing unusual in itself. 

That he liked his hands was not the point. That he could use them like other wizards used wands was. 

He’d been nine when he’d learnt that blood had power. Especially interested in evolution and biology, he’d been sure that there was something _more_ to him than the people who surrounded him. Not ignorant to his peculiarities like the Durselys would have him be, he knew he was different. By that age, he’d managed to draw a little on the energy that filled him; had managed to actively use it to help him, just a little, in surviving whatever life threw at him. 

But it was exhausting. 

Opening his cupboard lock so he could sneak out and pilfer whatever wouldn’t be missed at night had become a fast necessity. The Dursleys, used to eating to extremes, had no idea what to actually feed a normal nine year old. Not especially invested in keeping him healthy, let alone happy, their approach to feeding him hadn’t changed since he was four. 

His only set meal was lunch, where he was given a muesli bar and an apple. He ate whatever was left over for Breakfast and Dinner, which was usually crust from the toast Dudley refused to eat in the morning, and the vegetable skins he’d slice off while cooking in the evening. 

He’d cook so much it must have seemed reasonable to Petunia that scraps were sufficiently filling, but in a family like the Durselys, there were usually none left. 

His fear of a slow death by starvation had driven him to finally access his magic, but he couldn’t eat enough food to replenish it properly. Using it made him hungrier. Sluggish. 

He would use his magic to run faster, avoiding Dudley and his friends, but would be caught by his own magical exhaustion in the end. Unconscious before the boys even caught him. 

He’d will his clothing warmer, but couldn’t keep it up for long before his stomach ate itself in agony. 

He’d numb his skin as Vernon’s belt came down, as his fists beat him, as his hand was pressed to the cold-heat of the stove top coils, but he’d send himself into a sleep so deep he’d miss the next few days of school. Angering Vernon, and setting off the cycle again. 

His life was a haze of dizzy hunger, but he couldn’t stop. He could feel his abilities improving, just a little, every time he used them. If he ever wanted to do anything noteworthy, he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t go back to being nothing. To being a freak of designation not design. 

But it left the issue of how to stop from dying before he made it that far. Which is why, one day when he was nine, he stole the neighbour’s dog. 

Small enough to smuggle away to his uncle's shed, trained enough to keep from yapping, he’d sat staring at the animal for what felt like hours, stomach howling at him. The tiny thing had curled up in his lap, nose pressed trustingly against his ribs as it snuffled fitfully in sleep. The poor thing was covered in cuts and scabs, fluffy fur stuck wetly to the back of one bony leg. He felt his own body ache in sympathy, back burning, bruises throbbing, and had the thought that perhaps the Dursleys were actually quite normal in this sort of neighbourhood after all. 

He had the hysterical thought that perhaps he’d be doing the thing a favour, killing it. But then it wiggled a little, tail thumping softly, and he knew he couldn’t do it. He’d plucked and gutted fowl before, and on one memorable occasion, a rabbit, but what he thought would be just another animal to handle...wasn’t.

Crying quietly, he ran shaking fingers through the animal’s gnarled coat, picking away at the sticks and old blood he found as he went. Sometimes, as he tugged at a newer scab or touched a section of skin that made the dog whine, he felt something warm fizzle through him. Ignoring it, sure his body was playing tricks, he kept grooming. 

Eventually his fingers brushed the wet edge of it’s newer wound, and he shuddered, suddenly more alert than he’d been in weeks. Alarmed he pulled his hand away, and the fog crept back in, sinking into his limbs with heavy ease. A wet nose pushed against him, hard and insistent, and he looked back down to see brown eyes staring back at him with adoration. 

Slowly, a little scared, he lowered the tips of his fingers to the blood again, and both he and the little dog let out a tiny sigh. Warmth trickled through him. He pushed his hand against the sticky fur, and barely noticed the blood slowly disappearing. Barely noticed the tingling of the grazes on his hand as he swiped over the wound gently. Barely noticed the edges knitting back together, the skin cleaning, the leg relaxing. For the first time in a long time, he could think beyond the ache of his stomach.

The dog on his lap licked his knee, quiet as Harry ran gentle hands over it. He was thoughtful, considering, letting his mind form tests and hypotheses while it still had the edge to. Eventually, young and drained, he drifted off to sleep, curled over his fluffy breakthrough in the corner of the shed. 

It had taken two more incidents with the neighbour’s dog before Harry had solidified a working hypothesis, and a terrifying incident with another neighbour’s son before Harry had begun to dare imagine the possibilities open to him.

And now here he was, staring pursed-lipped at a pair of gloves that cost more than young him could ever have imagined having, let alone disdaining. Rolling his eyes, he tugged them on in a vague sort of homage to child-Harry, deciding to- just this once- allow himself a little weakness.

...before wrinkling his nose and pulling them off again. 

He wasn’t one for sentiment.

Concept art for Hadrian. It hasn't been explicitly mentioned yet, but his hair is slowly bleeding red. Currently though it's still black, and I'll post a picture of that too. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please go into this story well aware that some themes will be distressing. I'll do my best to give warnings at the beginning of each chapter.


	2. The Taste Of Marrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets with two surprising friends, and sees a vision of his perfect courtier.

Harry sat at The Golden Compass, ensconced comfortably in one of the booths near the back while he waited for his friends. Sitting crossed legged on the leather, he sipped absently at his coffee as he watched the door.

One shop down from the entrance of Knocturn, The Golden Compass was the only cafe he’d found in the Wizarding world that served the milky, flavoured coffees so prevalent in the muggle world. It was a hotspot for magicals with a foot in both worlds, and as he watched, he saw yet another (presumed) muggleborn giggle at the etching of a mermaid above the door, which blew her a kiss. 

White obscured his vision, and when he looked up, he was greeted by the beaming face of Lavender, who had somehow snuck up on him. Dressed head to toe in the traditional robes of an Applicant, she stood out like a lumos among the work-robes and colours others wore, and did not a damn thing to hide it. Her curls had been braided into a golden crown atop her head, and her face was bare and glowing.

“Well, you look beautiful darling.”

She laughed, reaching forward to tug his hood off, and sighed in relief when she saw his hair already in a sloppy fishtail. 

“I wasn’t sure if you’d actually braid it.”

“Of course I would.” Harry said. “The whole point of this is to follow tradition.”

He waved his hand at her to sit, and only smirked when she eyed his gloveless hands pointedly.

“If a wizard gets going from a glimpse of wrist, the world deserves what’s coming to it.”

Lavender rolled her eyes, waving down a waiter to order two gillywaters, ignoring their dumbfounded stare with all the grace of a person who is used to being looked at. 

“You’d think he’d never seen an Applicant before.”

“He likely hasn’t” Harry said. “Most don’t make it a point to have drinks at a middling coffee chain before they make their offerings, let alone so blatantly atired.”

“I’m proud to be one,” she said. “I’m lucky.”

“Luckier than I am.” Another voice said shortly, before Parvati sat heavily next to Lavender, pulling a Gillywater towards her without so much as a word of thanks. 

“You’ve cut your hair” said the blonde, reaching up with a gentle hand to touch the soft fuzz that covered her friend's head. Harry pushed a small plate of biscotti across the table. 

“It suits you.” He said, smiling widely as she glowered at him. 

“Yes, well I couldn’t keep my hair as it was, and I barely made the cutoff for applications, so I had to shave it in order to keep with tradition. I see you’re barely scraping by.”

Lavender slapped her shoulder, and Harry chortled, slipping her his gloves, which she slipped on with satisfaction, putting her own cotton ones in a pocket. Like him, she’d covered up with a darker cloak, uneasy with the idea of anyone paying much attention to the white garments beneath. 

She hadn’t had as much time to prepare for this as the other two, mentally or otherwise. Up until a month ago, she’d been assured of a fantastic political match with a childhood friend.

Engaged from birth to the son of one of her father’s associates, she had been fortunate enough to grow up with her future husband. They’d played together as children, experiencing a natural and surprisingly honest friendship which had thrilled both families, who had hoped for a good match. She was headstrong and ambitious, knowing from a young age that she could never be a stay at home Lady. Indeed she’d discovered her life’s calling at the age of six, and plodded ever forward with every intention of following it. Her intended, Amandeep, had not mentioned any objections- 

‘ _ further,’ Parvati had written in one of her more candid letters ‘he even jokes about being a kept man’. _

Her future had been planned down to how many children they would have-

_ ‘One. His brother already has four, and he’s the heir. Definitely no more, despite how he wheedles.’ _

Where they would live, and when-

_ ‘An estate on his parents property to begin with. A nice stone house tucked away at the base of a mountain in Jaipur. My parent’s love it, Padma thinks it’s wondrous. It has an attic with a domed glass roof, so at least there’s that.’ _

Even where they would retire-

_ ‘Honestly, he wants to move to Delhi, but if we’re moving at all, it’s back to London.’ _

Harry and Lavender had spent the last couple of years listening to her plan her future, one amused, the other fond. She wasn’t in love, but she was happy. 

Padma, as it turned out, was not so happy.

Her sister had been offered an arranged marriage as well. Unlike Parvati, she had never liked her match, finding him too plain and boring to befriend, let alone marry. Parvati found him nice enough; he was a few years older than them, and a good deal more conservative, but he was thoughtful and kind, and only ever respectful of his young intended. When Padma had not declined the betrothal the previous year when the option became open to her, Parvati thought, quite logically, that Padma had become happier with the match. 

She hadn’t, which was made clear with heartbreaking clarity when their father had found her mounting Amandeep in one of the guest rooms on the day he was meant to finalise his promise to Parvati. 

What followed was somehow worse. 

Padma claimed Right of First Blood. 

Amandeep claimed nothing.

They were married that day quietly and without fanfare, Parvati sandwiched in a corner between her mother and the woman she would have called mother-in-law, watching her sister happily tear down her future one vow at time. 

She wondered how she had missed that her sister was in love with her fiance. Wondered  _ how _ and  _ when _ and  _ how long _ . She saw the familiarity in the way he cupped her hands, in the way he held her as he kissed her. She saw the way he curled his hands into the long silk of her hair, possessive and protective and fond, and wondered if she had alway been blind.

When it was over, and they’d read the vows Parvati had crafted and eaten the food Parvati had made, and her shock had loosened into a dull simmering fury that at least let her form words, she managed to corner her erstwhile fiance- her good friend and childhood playmate- long enough to ask the very simple question of  _ why. _

Whatever she was expecting, it hadn’t been an almost sheepish shrug and a lazy-

_ ‘I thought she was you.’ _

The question of whether or not he was lying was irrelevant. If it was the truth, then he couldn’t tell her from her own twin (and though physically identical, they were different in the ways that  _ mattered _ . The ways that you learned when you knew people. When you cared, even just a  _ little _ ). If it was a lie, then it was a bad one, and pointless all things considered.

Leaving before anything else could be said, before her father could comprehend that fixing this mistake still left Padma’s own contract a gaping wound, she packed away her hurts and precious things, and fled to her favourite Aunties house. 

Hidden in a small cottage near Loch Lomond in Scotland, her Aunt took care of her, misdirecting her increasingly frantic father who was calling for her to take her sister’s place in the previous contract, and rushing to prepare her for an application to prevent such a thing from happening when he wouldn’t be distracted further. 

Parvati, much like her Aunt, would rather be Craft-Wed then wed at all, but as an Applicant, she had the option to decline propositions when all was said and done, as long as each were given the consideration due to them. She couldn’t be forced into a contract  _ in absentia _ of her sister. 

And so she had scrambled to prepare her application with only weeks to spare, her Auntie taking leave from work to help as best she could. Lavender had been a massive help with fleshing out her ledger, well used to scraping the marrow from one’s own tentative strength’s to form a well reasoned file, and Harry had sent her a fully articulated blood-bound family tree, which would have taken her far too long and too much to commission had she had to go through governmental channels instead of a ‘contractor’.

She’d submitted the application with a day to spare, and been accepted not a week later by the skin of her teeth. Her blood status and blossoming promise as a rune witch had likely pushed her over the edge, with nothing else to truly recommend her. (And what an astronomical stroke of luck. People prepared  _ years  _ for this).

Her Aunt had gifted her an appropriate wardrobe for an Applicant, which was a sensible, mostly appreciated gift to be sure. Her trust vault had been blocked while she hid away, and she had no wish to impose on her friends anymore than needed, let alone for clothing. 

She’d also received a small pot of her favourite hair oil, which she had spent a long night combing into the long coil of her hair, before she’d shaved it the very next day. Applicants could have one of two hair styles, and as much as a braid became her, she couldn’t bear to see anymore of her sister than she already did when she looked in the mirror.

Exhausted, she’d managed to salvage the tatters her sister’s choice had left her with, more focused on her future happiness than her family's reputation. And she’d done it all in an entirely above board, traditional way. 

Grimacing, she waved away Lavenders gentle fussing, fixing Harry with a gimlet stare.

“So you’re really going through with this?”

“Yes dove, I am. I thought we had this conversation?”

“A few dozen times” Lavender muttered to herself.

“We have.” Parvati acknowledged. “And I understand why you’re doing it. I know I was a little...insensitive-”

“Jealous,” Lavender said.

“ _ Insensitive _ ,” Pavarti insisted. “You being you and having what you have, I admit I couldn’t understand why you felt the need to tie yourself down like this, but I  _ get _ it now.”

“Honestly.” she said to Harry’s raised eyebrow. “I do. I always understood that you wanted to put your...research first without compromising responsibilities. I just didn’t understand why you insisted on throwing courtship into the mix. But...having lost something I didn’t even have. Something I...took for granted. I just wanted to apologise. Wanting affection-” she choked, swallowing bile “Isn’t something reserved for people like Lav.”

“You look disgusted Patty.” Lavender said, eyes crinkling. ”Honestly, you’re two peas in a pod.”

“No, really!” she said when the Parvarti scoffed, affronted. “You think Harry wants love? Good Merlin, the boy thinks his mother was an idiot for refusing to move when the Dark Lord came to visit. Let’s not talk about what he thinks of  _ Daddy _ Potter.”

“No,” she said decisively. “Harry’s in it for the sex.”

There was a brief moment when Parvarti and Harry met each other's eyes, dumfounded, before turning stiffly away, shoulder’s shaking in mirth. 

Lavender smiled a distinctly cat-like grin, before swallowing the last of her drink.

“Seriously. I want love, you want security, and Harry wants it all. That you’ve realised it’s important to  _ like _ your partner was a foregone conclusion anyway, love aside.”

“I know Lavender,” said Parvati, softening a little. “I just meant…”

“I know.”

“And then there’s-”

“Dumbledore” Lavender whispered.

“And Granger. Weasley. The entire muggleborn contingent and society in general. The media is going to  _ eat you alive _ . There’s no guarantee the Old Bloods are going to treat you any better.”

“I know.” said Harry. “But I want what I want, and that’s the end of it.” 

He sighed at Parvati, who was still looking unsure.

“Here what it boils down to dovey. I’m the last heir of an Old family. That my mother was a muggleborn is an irrelevant point-  _ all _ Old lines know the importance of new blood every ten generations or so, my father just did it  _ publicly. _ I have never officially declared my allegiance to either side, regardless of what people think, and I will be declaring as prospective neutral when we sign the official register. 

I’m proud of my family's history, but I don’t have the head to manage it. I could, but I don’t  _ want to _ . And politically, I could care less, I just want to conduct my business in peace. I’m declaring neutral purely to avoid the headache that would come with anything else. Dumbledore will have to dip back into the world of traditional politics if he has any chance of stopping me, and we all know his stance on  _ that _ . The government can’t interfere now that I’m officially an Applicant, and as for everything else…”

He shrugged. “I’ll be careful. But...I  _ need _ to do this.”

Lavender looked at him shrewdly.

“Need?” She wheedled. “What an interesting choice of words. Especially for you.”

“I’ve felt the call,” Harry said frankly. “I’ve felt it since fourth year. Otherwise I would have hired a dummy proxy to sit on my affairs while I fucked off to Scholomance.”

Lavender turned the colour of curdled milk.

“H-Harry, you can’t just  _ say _ things like that. We’re in public.”

Harry pointed idly to the plate of biscotti.

“It’s fine, I’ve already made sure whatever we said won’t be remembered.”

Lavender sagged slightly in relief, before stiffening in understanding. 

“They don’t serve biscotti here do they?”

Parvati narrowed her eyes, fear and anger roiling through her. “You used blood magic on the biscuits didn’t you?”

“Of course I did.” Harry said. He watched her through narrow, glittering eyes, chin cradled on both hands where he leant on the table. 

“That’s disgusting” She snapped, jumping a little at her own anger. “It’s one thing to use it on muggles, it’s something entirely different to use it without consent on your  _ friends _ .”

“A valid point” said Harry, nodding agreeably. 

Parvati stared at him. “Well, are you going to agree not to do it again?”

“Of course not” said Harry.

“It’s  _ black magic _ , Harry. I don’t want to associate with it at all, let alone _ eat _ it!”

“You like it well enough to accept the rune stones I crafted,” he spoke bluntly. “You didn’t say no, did you Parvati, you naughty girl. Not when  _ you _ needed something.”

She flinched, turning away from Lavender’s probing eyes. 

“I suppose we all know what will come from  _ your _ calling then.” She said spitefully, already regretting it at the look of disappointment on her best friends face.

“That’s enough Parvati.” She said firmly. 

“No, it’s alright lovely. She’s just rattled.”

Harry’s hand reached forward to rest gently atop her own gloved one, and she shuddered at the lattice of scars that glimmered silver and web like on his golden skin.

“She’s still adjusting to the knowledge that her friend is a little less conventional then she had assumed,” he clarified to Lavender, his dark eyes never leaving Parvati’s. “It’s understandable, Lav, your acceptance is a blessed rarity.”

“Oh” said Lavender. “But she should-” 

“It doesn’t matter.” said Harry. “I understand her anger; I was invasive. I’m sorry.”

Parvati shifted awkwardly, oddly exposed under Harry’s thin smile. A flush of guilt hit her, and she looked away.

“Well then.” Lavender sipped primly at her empty glass, baby blue eyes fixed firmly on Harry. “I think it’s fantastic that you’ve felt it. You deserve a fated match.”

For a while, Harry didn’t say anything. His thin hands pulled back across the table, where he stared at them in contemplation, watching the skin pull over muscle as he clenched his hands. 

“I suppose we’ll see.” he said finally, ignoring Lavenders pout of disappointment. Parvati watched him with careful eyes, stiff backed and contemplative. 

Dimly he could hear the roar of fire, crackling as it always did when the hollow throbbing of his soul stuttered. He swallowed the copper on his tongue and smiled a little, stealing the last of the biscotti, and crushing it between his teeth. He swallowed, pulling himself to his feet and tugging at his sleeves.

“Either way, we’d best be off. I want to avoid running into anyone we know if I can help it.”

Parvati nodded, slipping out and pulling her cloak closed while she waited for Lavender.

“You know you’ll have to remove it afterwards.” Harry said softly. 

“I know,” she said. “And also...I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me before.”

“I understand.” Harry smiled at her, small but honest. And she knew he did. Just like she knew it didn’t really mean anything. Harry wasn’t the sort of person to let common decency stop him from doing anything he’d put his mind to. Lavender adored him with a blind faith that made her stomach ache with worry, and really, he was a better friend than Parvati herself was, but she wasn’t blind to the teeth ever hungry beneath his skin. 

Sometimes she worried she was a little more blind to his mechanisms than she thought, a little less savy to the guile behind his smiles. Mostly though, she worried at the way it was slowly ceasing to matter to her, his calm support slowly whittling away at her the hypocrisy of her morals.

She wanted to argue that she wasn’t like him. That she, at least, had a line she wouldn’t cross. 

But she had already crossed it. 

Wrapped in velvet, hidden at the bottom of a mokeskin purse in her trunk, the 24 runes stones he’d gifted her taunted her. Bone white and powerful, she knew exactly how he’d made them. And couldn’t bring herself to regret it. 

Although…

She shuddered as his eyes glimmered cruely, before he winked and turned away, offering a hand to Lavender who had stubbornly stayed seated to let them talk. 

Well. Harry had her blood, didn’t he? Perhaps she really had  _ no choice _ , but to follow him down the rabbit hole? And he was friends with _ Lavender _ , for Mordred's sake. Lavender, who was soft, and kind and  _ good _ .

Relaxing a little, she smiled crookedly at her two friends as the blonde re-tied the ribbon in Harry’s hair. 

“There!” Declared Lavender, as if Harry’s hair wasn’t already springing away from the braid to bounce around his face. “Much better.”

“Mmhmm” Harry agreed, pulling a handful of sickles from the pouch at his waist. “Thanks Lav.”

Money on the table, they made their way outside, Harry pulling his hood firmly up to cover his face.

The weather was hot and dry, light reflecting off the polished cobblestones and shop windows to blind them as they walked. The air smelt sour and dusty, worse around large families or groups of friends that were out, and already, they could feel the sticky slick of sweat rise on their skin.

“This is ridiculous.” Lavender flicked open a pale parasol, pretty face twisted in annoyance. 

”Why haven’t the spells on the alley been renewed?” 

“It’s ministry regulated” said Harry, as if that was all that needed to be said. 

“Ridiculous,” insisted Lavender, and Parvati sighed. 

“Gringotts is just up the path.” she said “and Horizont Alley is privately owned, so you just need to bear with it for a little while longer.”

Lavender said nothing and pursed her lips, walking around a particularly slow couple with an irritated jerk.

The white marble of Gringotts loomed over them as they walked closer, a sterile and intimidating landmark sandwiched between two smaller buildings that seemed grubby in comparison. The Goblins at the door watched them with hard eyes as they approached, before one with a clipboard in place of a spear caught them before they entered.

“Applicant Offerings?” He asked, voice sharp like flint on flint. 

Lavender nodded, clenching her hands around the parasol mutely.

“Take a left upon entry. Enter the elevator- it will take you to the right floor. You will leave your wands at the checking desk there.”

Parvati muttered a thankyou, before they swept past and made their way to the aforementioned elevator. 

“I wonder who else will be there.” Lavender murmured quietly, intimidated by the eyes that followed them across the lobby. “This session is for Hogwarts students only, so we should know everyone.”

“A lot of people from our year have betrothals already,” said Harry, ignoring Parvati’s flinch. “And a fair few are ‘modernising’ or unimportant, so I suspect the number to be quite low actually.”

Lavender nodded pensively, smiling at Harry when he gestured for them to enter the elevator first.

“Oh this is nice” she said with some surprise. The elevator was chiseled crystal, pale pink and humming pleasantly with a soft vibration that resonated through them as it lowered. After a minute or so, a small table rose from the floor, a tiny plaque in polished bronze proclaiming it to be the checking desk. 

“Do we give it our wands?” Parvati wondered, and immediately, three narrow draws shot out, just long enough for each respective wand. Harry shrugged and slipped his wand into the longest one, snorting when it slammed closed with a tinny thank you. Lavender and Parvati followed suit, jumping when the desk grew up and into the ceiling before folding upwards. 

With a small shudder, the elevator ground to a stop, and the doors opened into a dimly lit natural cave. The exact size of the cavern was impossible to tell, each wall receding into an inky blackness that was difficult to see through. A large lake lit up the centre of the cave, glowing blue and luminous and endless. Within it, white shapes moved like shooting stars. 

They stepped hesitantly forward and stopped suddenly as magic crashed down over them, heavy like ozone before a thunderstorm. 

“Where is everyone?” Lavender whispered, and Harry pointed silently to the white shapes moving like ghosts on the far side of the lake. 

“I think there’s more than one elevator,” Parvati murmured, and nodded to a slight flicker of pink off to the left, followed by another white smudge moving forward. 

“Alright.” Lavender breathed. “Okay, that’s fine. Maybe better.”

She took a coltish step forward, trembling hands reaching up to unbutton her cloak, which she placed in a neat pile on the ground, followed shortly by the rest of her clothing. Harry sighed, before shrugging off his clothing as well, putting them with his shoes and Parvati’s own crumpled pile. He slipped the ribbon from his hair, letting the heavy waves fall from the braid without prompting. Pulling a waxed linen bundle from under the pile, he cupped it carefully in his hands as he made his way to the water with the others. 

“Do you need help with your braids?” He asked quietly, watching as Lavender dug her fingers around the crown of her head. 

“No, thank you. I think I’ve...I’m almost...there!” She tugged something, and Harry watched her ringlets halo her in a fluffy mess. 

“Impressive.” He said, meaning it. She’d braided her hair with nothing but grit and skill, using no pins or clips to help. She grinned proudly at him, before noticing what was in his hands. 

“Oh, is that…?”

He nodded, smiling at her fondly. Lavender had gone with a traditional Offering, twining her milk teeth with a lock of her hair in a braided piece of jewellery. It was simple, but personal, and the most commonly given offering for its effectiveness. She had made several of them, enough for a bracelet for each wrist and one for each ankle, and a thin harness that crisscrossed between the valley of her breasts. The more he looked, the more he saw, and when he squinted, he saw something white and hard smile at him from the halo of her hair, before he was caught off guard by a sudden bark of laughter by Parvati. 

Parvati had gone more personal, like him, Offering her old betrothal contract. She had covered the pages in lines of runes so thick the pages themselves were black with ink, which she made into a paper crown. She wore it now, white teeth gleaming at him with savage triumph when he noticed. Something wild slunk behind the brown of her eyes, and Harry felt drums resonate within him, urging and eager.

Both girls watched him as he carefully unfolded the linen flaps, dipping his fingers into the black ash that he’d packed it with. He hadn’t had to think terribly hard on what exactly his offering should be, and there, in the cold silence of the Offering chamber, he smeared the burnt remains of what used to be his parents' wands over the right side of his face, covering his scar completely.

“Beautiful” Lavender sighed, drawing him in for a hug that burnt like acid, teeth gnawing at him, before allowing herself to be tugged away by Parvati, who dipped and swayed with a music that only she heard. The two girls swung away from him, dancing and moving together, glorious and sylph-like, until between one second and the next, they vanished into the mirror-like surface of the lake. 

His nerveless fingers dropped the linen, and something magnificent drew him forward. He smelt fire and smoke, and when he breached the water, he boiled, skin blistering and splitting and reforming all at once. It was rapturous, the feeling that seized him, and he moved with strong purpose. He was fire, flickering and golden, surging across the surface of the lake like it was oil. Like a phoenix, he flew with burning wings, and when he reached the centre of the lake, where the lights sung to him with words that made him die and live and die again, he dropped like a stone straight to the bottom, the lake as smooth and silent as it ever had been.

XxX

_ Harry burned.  _

_ He was tied to a stake in the middle of a village, feet staked to the pole with a single large bolt, hands slick with blood and bound behind him. He had been burning for a long time, the kindling beneath his feet long turned to ash, his body burning of its own accord. The fire was green, and as the tall flames spat and hissed, he heard sonnets being crooned, a deep voice whispering secrets hotly into the shell of his ear.  _

_ Beyond him, beyond the flames, Harry heard screaming.  _

_ The voices of the village rose up, serenading him with the violence of their deaths. All at once, every wretched person who had put him there sang him love songs with their dying screams. A prolonged wail of such utter misery, his breath hitched at the artistry of it. He heard the crack and pop of the buildings as they burnt and shattered, the fire ravenous as it spread and ate and pillaged. He heard sobbing, dull and hopeless, and he was aroused. _

_ Something sinuous moved beyond the wall of flames that cradled him, a shadow that slunk just beyond his view. It undulated before him, massive and hypnotising, and he ached with a hunger beyond any he’d never known. Harry was a black hole, wanting and wanting and wanting, and he cried out with the fury of his need.  _

_ The fire wavered, before the great shape of a man rose up, a towering giant of flame and rage and world consuming hunger to match his own. Eyes of starlight watched him, timeless and ageless, before the great man knelt before him with great care. Beyond them, the world split, great chasms gouging the earth as the God settled to his knees. The sky turned red, splintered and broken, playing the sounds of a dying people like raid sirens.  _

_ But Harry saw none of that, trapped in the gaze of the man who watched him with covetous eyes, softened with something like wonder. Harry’s soul ached to be closer, to both consume and be consumed by the man. He wanted him. Wanted him to sink into the hollowness of his bones and make a home there.  _

_ A smile split the being’s face, too wide too sharp, splitting him from ear to ear. His teeth gleamed like shards of broken porcelain, white and shocking, before it hissed out what could only be a victorious ‘yes’.  _

_ Time flickered, stopped and then restarted. Harry was burning, then he was not. He was bound, and then he was free. Standing unhindered in the middle of the village, the quiet sounds of a sleeping town blanketing him, he looked down at the bowed head of the mortal man in front of him. The man held his hands out, and in them he cradled a heart of fire, beautiful and strange.  _

_ Slowly, Harry reached to take the heart, peace filling him as it sank into him, burning its way into his flesh. For once, the hunger that ate at him was sated. Reverently, Harry leaned forward to embrace his God, folding the trembling form into his own slender arms with care he had not thought himself capable of. Pale eyes looked up at him, and he still saw stars beyond them. He smiled, and leant down to brush his lips against a pale ear.  _

_ “Let us burn.” _

_ And so they did.  _


	3. Red Ribbons, Blue Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory shopping chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter warnings: General creepiness and Harry being himself
> 
> Edited 15/09/20 to include flashback at beginning of Chapter

_ XxX _

_ Flashback _

_ ‘An Applicant’, Harry read, ‘is an avatar of Magick.’ _

_ ‘Upon their own determination, or upon Her call, a wix may make an offering to be considered for such an honour. An Applicant, of all of Magick’s avatars, is one who seeks a twin-mate (see chapter seventeen for a summary of Magick’s other avatars). _

_ An Applicant’s flesh is made holy by Magick. Any wixen of sullied flesh or virtue, for whatever reason, would be better to consider a contracted betrothal. Magick, though She loves us, is blind to such reason. _

_ A successful Applicant, made Holy after the acceptance of their offerings (see chapter four for information on traditional offerings), spends a year and a day in the service of Our Lady. Their body is Her body; Her Magick is their magic. They become untouchable to the unwashed masses. _

_ What makes an Applicant desirable as a mate is not their chastity, though that too has an undeniable appeal (see chapter twelve for Applicant based ritual magics), but the blessings they bring to their prospective families.  _

_ Through Magick’s grace, an Applicant is only ever fertile; they will never be without means for a child, even long after their youth has faded. Several Olde families have been saved from extinction in this way, with Blessed Bearers birthing children long after others would have been unable. _

_ Gifted Applicants will find their Gifts strengthened, with some truly magnificent transformations taking place (see chapter seven for a list of notable Gifted Applicants in history). Though rare, exceptionally well-matched twin-mates may find that the Applicant’s Gift bears fruit as a blood trait in future generations. It is not unusual for prospective suitors to court an Applicant who has a Gift similar to their own family talents to increase the likelihood of such a thing occurring. _

_ Finally, perhaps most romantically, an Applicant will seek a mate that resonants with their own soul. Though capable of mating for political and personal reasons like most other wixen, an Applicant will be driven to choose the best mate for them personally, on every level. Whatever wix is so lucky as to be accepted by their courted Applicant can almost be assured of a happy mateship in a way contracted betrothals simply cannot.  _

_ Over the last fifty years the ministry has developed a somewhat clumsy method of filtering who may and may not make offerings as an Applicant, in order to decrease the amount of deaths from wixen found unworthy. By regulating the bodies of water over the ley lines most commonly used and developing a formal process to register intent (with a requirement for approval to proceed), the number of deaths has decreased dramatically. A surge in muggleborns and the mudblood agenda has seen a further drop in wixen applying, until it has come to what it is today- that only the most traditional apply.  _

_ This book will-” _

_ Harry shut the book and frowned at it with narrowed eyes, before slipping it under one of the other books on his table that proclaimed ‘Why Dragon Tamer is a misnomer’ in bright red lettering. He ran a pointed nail over its leather spine in irritation and sighed. _

_ “Is this what you want?” _

_ A Hufflepuff a few tables over looked up and scowled at him, flashing his ‘Support Cedric Diggory’ badge, before going back to his own books. _

_ The magic that had pulled at him uncomfortably for months burned warm and pleasant in his chest for once. A phantom hand brushed his hair back, tugging the book eagerly from its place in his stack, and he pushed it back into place, clicking his tongue.  _

_ “I’ll read it.” He promised. _

_ XxX _

Harry came to quietly and without noise. Eye flicking open, he took a moment to note that the cavern had somehow inverted itself, the lake now glimmering on the ceiling, before nausea hit him like a bus. Groaning, he struggled not to curl into himself, taking slow, deep breaths as he tried and failed to sit up.

A set of hands helped him up, and he realised he was sitting on one of several stone platforms in the middle of the cavern, which was blessedly empty of his as-of-yet unknown classmates. 

“Harry?”

Gut heaving, he tilted his head towards the voice, unable to do much more than indicate he was listening.

“Here, drink this.”

Something heavy was pushed into his hands, and with help, he managed to hold the shallow bowl well enough to sip from it without spilling the contents over his front. Whatever it was was cool and bitter- more potion than beveridge- and after a few deep pulls, he felt steady enough to straighten a little and move of his own accord. 

To his left, Lavender was perched primly on her own stone dais, braiding her hair into another crown, somehow managing to make it look effortless despite the lack of mirror, wand or pins to aid her. She was dressed already, and only her pale face and the empty bowl beside her let him know she hadn’t made it through the experience without her own disorientation. 

“When…”

He grimaced, rubbing his throat when his voice came out as a croaky whisper. Parvati sat at the end of his platform, stern face as relaxed as he’d ever seen it. 

“I woke up first,” she said. “The first thing I did was make sure your scar was covered, then I set up sentry between the two of you. The rest, not including you or Lavender, woke up about 10 minutes after me. No one questioned me, I think they were all too tired.”

“Pansy was here,” said Lavender, remembering how the girl had lingered, dark eyes strangely intense as she watched a sleeping Harry. “I woke up just before she left.”

Harry hummed, pushing himself off and to his feet with limbs like lead. Head swimming, he clenched the edge with white knuckles, grateful when Lavender stepped over and handed him his robes without comment. 

“We were the only Gryfindors, which isn’t unexpected. Finch-Fletchely though...that was a surprise.”

“He’s a muggleborn isn’t he? A Hufflepuff?” asked Lavender with wide eyes.

“A filthy rich one,” Harry rasped. “Old money. Eager to prove himself, but in the right ways.”

“Well…” said Lavender. “Well. How interesting.”

Parvati looked like she was ten seconds away from rolling her eyes. 

“No Ravenclaws, which isn’t too surprising. And two other Slytherins- Daphne and Theodore Nott.”

“Not Davis?” 

“No.”

“How curious.” said Lavender. “I could have sworn...well. I thought Greengrass had decided to mentor her?”

“Who knows”. Parvati reached forward to help with the tiny hooks that Harry was having trouble with. “I suppose we’ll find out eventually.” 

Harry said nothing as they fiddled with his robes, sitting quietly as Lavender pulled his hair back in his preferred fishtail. 

“There,” she said, and Harry took that as his cue to take a few steps forward, pleased his strength was returning to him. 

“Where’s my cloak?”

“I put it in my pouch,” Parvati said, patting the leather satchel on her hip. “You can get your wand over there.”

Harry followed her finger, and saw the crystal checking desk just outside the elevator. It sprung open as he approached it, chirping his name cheerfully as it spat his wand out. He caught it easily, rolling his eyes as the tiny draw wilted in disappointment. 

“I didn’t know your name was Hadrian.” Lavender mused, smiling as Harry held the door open for them. 

“Neither did I.” Harry muttered. “Not until last year.”

Wisely, nothing else was said. 

Soon they were back in the main lobby, strangely vulnerable under the probing gazes of the wizarding clients. Harry ignored them, used to pretending the greater public did not exist, and put a hand on Parvati's lower back, firmly but gently steering her towards the door. Lavender snapped open her parasol, blocking out the worst of the eyes, but Parvati was still uneasy.

“I feel naked.” She hissed, forcing the words out from behind clenched teeth. Harry eyed the way the white under robe clung to her thin, wiry figure, and grimaced, well aware of his friend’s typically modest sense of dressing. 

“We’ll go to the tailors first.” He said, nodding to the goblins as they left. “We both need proper white cloaks. And all three of us need a formal set.”

“I don’t see why I can’t just wear my normal cloak until then.” She muttered petulantly, swiping angrily at her forehead as the sun hit them.

“I told you to bring a white cloak beforehand” Lavender said without much sympathy, eyes lighting up as she saw the entrance to Horizont. “You can bear with it for a few minutes.”

Towards the end of the alley was a small courtyard with a massive fountain taking up the majority of space. Two towering figures in polished bronze loomed over them, wands crossed as if frozen mid-duel, oddly intimate for all that they were fighting. Water shot out of each wand, a fine spray of liquid that formed a veil of water between the two, just beyond the lip of the fountain.

Harry bowed to the figure on the left, ignoring the way it smiled smugly at the other statue, before sweeping through the water without a pause. Behind him, the two girls followed, Lavender wilting in relief at the cool air that settled over them upon breaching the spray. 

A few steps in, the world, which had taken on an indistinct misty form with the first step through the fountain, began to bleed colour and sound again. The gentle chime of shop bells was the first to greet them, followed by the gentle chatter of a remarkably different breed of people to Diagon Alley. 

Harry had thought once, when he first stumbled upon this place, that if this had been his first introduction to the Wizarding world, things would have turned out remarkably differently.

The alley was open and uncluttered, each building a pale mercury that somehow managed to be tasteful instead of bland. The walls gleamed like oil, a hundred colours and a complete lack of them, all at once. Wicked and wonderful creatures rippled along the walls, and Harry watched in delight as a Basilisk surged from the closest storefront, fanning it’s crest at him, before the surface settled back into smooth reflectiveness. 

Unlike the dirty cobblestone and red brick of Diagon (which Harry could admit had a rustic charm all of its own), Horizont was an example of more modern wizarding architecture. Clean without being sterile, charming without being trite, it was a literal breath of fresh air. 

The ground beneath them pulsed in subtle waves of light, tiled in glass of every colour imaginable. Beneath the three of them was a collection of tiles a mossy shade of green, and as he made his way forward, they shot out, cutting through the veritable rainbow to take them where they needed to go. 

Behind him, Lavender walked arm in arm with Parvati, talking to her lightly to distract her from the eyes that followed them. The people here were obviously traditional; robed and sure of their place in the world. Not all wealthy, but respected. He saw Lord Malfoy escorting his wife to a small restaurant he knew served the prettiest finger food he’d ever eaten, and smiled to himself at the dotting look the older man couldn’t quite manage to hide. 

In Diagon, the Lord would have been as blank-faced as ever. But here, they could afford to soften a little. The entire alley was a magical Switzerland. 

Eventually, the path took them to a store that had a tiny loom etched above the doorway, and Harry squeezed Parvati’s shoulder as they made their way inside. 

‘Oh, three at once, that’s surprising.’

Harry turned to smile at the woman who greeted them, smile sharpening as he took in the blindfold she wore, despite the ease in which she walked towards them.

‘Welcome, welcome. Oh yes, how lovely.’

‘Perhaps not so surprising,’ another voice interjected.’ But lovely, yes.’

Another woman, also blindfolded, slunk out from somewhere in the back, frowning at them in contemplation. 

‘Applicant robes then?’ The first, taller woman said, ushering them onto a comfortable set of chairs where Parvati settled stiffly next to Lavender, who squeezed her knee gently. Three cups of tea were already steaming on the table.

‘You’ll be taking a full wardrobe won’t you?’ the shorter woman croaked, eyes intent on Harry despite being covered. 

‘Yes to both.’ He agreed, feeling a little unsettled. ‘And a cloak for my friend.’ He gestured vaguely towards Parvati, who sighed and nodded. 

‘I’ll need a formal dress too’ she said. ‘Auntie bought me the basics, but I need something for the Yule ball too. Off the rack will be fine.’

Lavender wrinkled her nose, and Harry bit down on the urge to laugh. Parvati had no care for luxury; indeed her only delight in taking his gloves earlier had been that they would last her for a lifetime. Further, she had only taken them because she knew of Harry’s peculiarities regarding his hands. He would have tossed them in the bin and she knew it. He’d tricked her into accepting a few gifts that way. 

Lavender, ever conscious of the way she came across, had repeatedly tried to wrangle her utilitarian friend into clothing more fashionable, but the Indian girl had put her foot down. Beyond necessity, there was no point to it, as long as it was comfortable, clean and appropriate.

‘Do you need anything Lavender?’ He offered, and wasn’t surprised when she shook her head. Bar the formal robes, she’d had her wardrobe settled for nearly a year. Harry himself hadn’t, for the simple fact that he was more limited in time and freedom. 

He wasn’t looking forward to spending so much money on a completely white wardrobe, but he would, because now that he knew what silk felt like, what leather smelt like, he couldn’t bear to hold himself to basics.

One of the women flicked her wand and three sets of formal white applicant robes darted in, swathes of fabric floating effortlessly, suspended in the air by magic. The under-robe was much like what Harry wore now, hooked from groin to chin and designed to fit the body tightly, only lacking the slits he’d added for movement.

A heavy silk-wool cloak lay over them, thin rows of tiny pearlescent pearls running from foot to neck, and down the tapered sleeves. It glimmered dully, light catching the ropes of intricate knot-work that paneled the sides, catching Parvati’s eye as she tried to make sense of the runes cleverly woven in. She wouldn’t, not unless she was a thread-witch. Rune-skilled or not, knotting didn’t lend itself easily to interpretation.

Three pairs of silk slippers had snuck in while he was examining the clothing, and he could only be thankful they were plain and undecorated.

Rows of numbers flickered pale and opaque beside each set, and when he examined the numbers closest to him, he recognised his height and shoe size. The others, he assumed, were his other measurements.

Another quick flick later and the robes were folded in three tidy piles, hovering somewhere near the counter. A heavy cloak a shade away from cream nudged him, and he smiled a little, pleasantly surprised by the witch’s intuition as he stroked the thick fur hood, fingers dragging down and along the fur that lined the bottom as well, cooing as his fingers sunk into the plush strands.

“Luxurious, yes? Stunning. She likes you.”

Harry murmured his agreement, noting that they’d chosen well for Parvati also, who was already buttoning a sensible woolen cloak shut, plain but for the buttons, which had her crest stamped on each one. A glimmer of unease threaded through him at the sight, impossibilities and questions beginning to prickle at his tongue, before dispersing as one of the seamstresses whistled thinly, high and eerie. A roll of parchment popped into place in front of him, yellow vellum brushing his nose and rolling down to pool in his lap. When his eyes could focus again, he saw a list of materials and cuts, and on the right, a well-rendered sketch of his own figure, which ran a hand teasingly down it’s naked body and winked.

“If you’re very particular, we can work out an exact wardrobe down to what material pairs with what piece, and what your tastes run to. For the financially liberated and free-thinking however, we have this option.” She leaned over and pressed her fingers quickly to a couple of the options, humming as the sketch pulled itself away from the parchment, hovering in it’s new outfit above Harry’s lap. It cocked it’s hip and raised an eyebrow, and Harry noticed that he looked very nice in whatever loose material the pants were made of.

He glanced at the list- _ah, they were linen_.

He tapped a few other materials, ignoring the heavier leathers and cheaper materials, and touched the ‘choose for me’ option, which shimmered in red at the top. The Harry hologram smirked wickedly at him, flashing his leg through the silky white robes that wrapped around him like a gauzy spiderweb, before pouting when Harry tapped it again, and was clothed in a sumptuous white cable knit and white fitted pants that flattered him well.

“With enough tweaking, an imposed limit or two, and trust in the wonders of magic, we can hand pick the perfect wardrobe for you at your discretion, satisfaction guaranteed or your money back. You may take the parchment with you while we finalise the designs. We’ll let you know when they’re ready to make, you inspect them on your little model, and if everything’s to your taste-

“Which it will be.” The other woman muttered scornfully.

“You just send it back to us and we’ll do the rest.”

Harry tapped a few more options, watching as his hologram posed in yet another impeccable outfit, before giving up on whatever was making him uneasy, and giving in.

“Yes, alright.” He said, finally taking a sip of his tea. “It’s a magically inclined learning program?”

“Not at all!” A cheerful voice proclaimed from behind him, and he bit his tongue to avoid jumping as another woman rounded the sofa, chubby and round and just as blindfolded as the other two. “Not in the slightest!” She said, before moving to help Parvati, who was staring at her own parchment in consternation. “We don’t _do_ off the rack, dear” she murmured “but really, we’re far superior to anything you’ll buy anywhere else!”

Parvati’s expression tightened, and Harry rolled his eyes. 

“I’ll pay,” he said, “I’m not letting you go to somewhere like Malkins. You’ll be the only Applicant in rags. Besides” he added, leaning forward teasingly “think about the absolute _filthy_ jealousy Padma will feel when she sees you present for Yule in something hand-tailored to show you off. I’m going to have you in clothing so atrociously scrumptious your absolute tart of a sister will die of envy. Literally if we’re lucky!’

“Acromantula silk.” The third shopkeeper chimed. ( _Were they all sisters? Harry wondered. There was something there, something he was-_ )

“Hand stitched,” the second said.

“Knotted with runes” the first said, smiling when Parvati seemed to deflate in defeat.

“Let your friend spoil you, dear. You’ll both be much happier for it. We’ll throw in a fur stole for your other lovely friend there, and then you’ll all be happy.”

Lavender stiffened from where she was eyeing Harry’s new fur trimmed coat in deep appreciation, colouring slightly.

“Perfect!” Harry exclaimed, before anything else could be said.He stood, gracefully rolling his parchment and putting it in a pocket. “Let’s finalise everything, and then I’ll authorise a blank check shall I?”

Leaving Lavender to talk Parvati into accepting her good fortune with a modicum of grace, Harry made his way to the counter with the three...seamstresses ( _Sisters. They were sisters_ ).

He pressed his wand to the shop’s own copy of the charmed parchments (both his and Parvati’s) and thanked the women gracefully, ignoring the voice in his head that told him to _be careful, be grateful, be happy._

“Farewell little cousin!” The women chorused just before the door shut behind them, and Harry determinedly did not look behind him, pulling on his cloak instead. 

“Well…” Lavender breathed. She took a deep breath, before looking at the ground beneath their feet, where a thick band of green cut from one side of the street directly across.

“Oh, well that’s convenient.” She straightened her shoulders and gave a little toss of her head, before swanning to the other store without another word. Parvati let out an exasperated sigh.

“...My sister won’t literally drop dead, will she Harry?”

“Don’t be silly poppett. I was being _poetic_.” 

“Right.” She muttered. “Of course.”

She fiddled with the buttons on her cloak, before firming her shoulders and following the other two. The door opened just before they reached it, and a familiar Slytherin stepped out, eyeing them with carefully concealed surprise. His eyes swept over the three of them, sharp eyes making the connection between their stark white clothing, and what shop they’d come to, handsome face going taunt with shock when he realised _who exactly_ was in front of him and _for what reason._

Lavender waited a second, taking a moment to run appreciative eyes over his broad shoulders and tight dreadlocks, which he’d beaded and put in a bun, before realising he hadn’t yet recovered from the shock of seeing Harry dressed as an Applicant and wasn’t making any moves to remove himself from the doorway.

“Heir Zabini” Lavender demurred, looking sweetly up at him from under long blonde lashes. She waited until his warm brown eyes met her own blue ones, mortification filling them before they shuttered, polite interest masking his embarrassment. 

“Would you mind terribly being a gentleman and holding the door for us?”

“Of course, Applicant Brown. Applicant Patil, Applicant Potter.” His rumbling baritone shook it’s way through Lavender’s bones, and she fought down a blush, smiling when his own dark skin turned a lovely shade of plum. She waited until the other’s had preceded her, before daring to lay her small gloved hand on his forearm.

“Thank you.” she murmured, before following through, almost missing Zabini’s choked “You’re most welcome,” as she did.

Quite unlike the shop they had just left- which seemed oddly oppressive now that they had left it- this shop was plain and uncluttered. Glass counters lined the room, spotless and well lit, and filled with velvet trays of several different types of jewelry. Behind the glass counter near the left of the door, was a goblin, which would have been surprising if she hadn’t surmised that this store likely sold Mithril. Two other goblins guarded the room, concealed by strategic shadows just beside the door, each with no discernible weapons though she was positive they had several.

The goblin behind the counter jangled lightly as he turned to face them, and she could see the amount of jewelry he wore was obscene, but oddly beautiful. Thin chains threaded themselves through holes in his ear from his lobe to the very tip, dripping in gems and clinking together as he moved. Several silver ( _mithril,_ her mind stuttered) hoops lined his craggy eyebrows, with another looping it’s way through his nose like a boar, a tiny ruby dangling from it to sit just above his lip.

_‘Not a male’_ Lavender thought in shock as a surprisingly soft voice raised itself to greet them. _‘That’s a female goblin.’_

A second, closer, look noted slender fingers and longer, thinner ear tips than she was used to, but she had no idea if those slimmer features were indicative of gender. ‘ _Of course they’re like Dwarves,’_ she thought with some amusement. _‘What irony that such bitter rivals are so alike in this way’._

She followed her friends, secretly glad she had no part in this aspect of tradition, no matter how fetching other people may look with piercings ( _‘Zabini had a few’_ , her mind supplied. _‘They looked rather nice._ ’). Lavender was a pureblood, but she didn’t come from a Noble or Ancient house, and she definitely didn’t come from one of the sacred 28. While no slouch with wand work, she wasn’t Gifted like her friends were, so had no importance that way either. Her skills were far more subtle and often underappreciated but to the truly keen courtier she knew would be invaluable...if such a man should only focus his attention on her.

“No, I want this one” Parvati was saying when she joined them, pointing at one of the more delicate studs in a yellow gold. “I don’t care that you think it makes my diamond look dull Harry, I want them in yellow gold.”

Lavender peered over her shoulder, raising an eyebrow at the little yellow diamond that glittered on the tray. “That’s lovely,” she prompted, watching Parvati throw a victorious smile at Harry. 

“It is” Parvati agreed staunchly. “It’s what chose me,” she continued. “But _Harry_ here seems to think setting it in yellow gold would be gaudy.”

“It would be” Harry interjected. “It’s such a lovely diamond that setting yellow on yellow would do it a complete disservice.”

Lavender was inclined to agree with Harry, but she couldn’t possibly say that. 

“You’ll look beautiful Parvati” she said diplomatically, avoiding Harry’s eyes as she did. “It’ll go well with your skin tone.”

She was rewarded with one of Parvati’s smaller, more genuine smiles, before slipping between them and having a look at what had chosen Harry. 

“It’s a bit obvious isn’t it?” She asked worriedly, eyeing the blood red diamond that twinkled at her.

“Not really,” Harry said, eyes intent on the stone. “Fire-locks and Beast Master’s tend towards red as well. They’re likely to assume I have some skill with fire. If not, well, they can’t really prove it either way.”

She knew he would do what he wanted, her opinion given or not, and so she moved on.

“Well, it is...compelling. What metal are you choosing then?”

Harry pointed at a lump of Gold that was a few shades darker than she was used to. 

“It’s a gold-mithril alloy. Master Finlock recommended it.”

She nearly swallowed her tongue at the fact that a Goblin had actually _recommended_ Mithril to a wizard. She had thought they guarded it greedily and parted with it rarely and at great expense. 

Perhaps she was wrong. 

“Applicant Patil” the Goblin’s voice interjected, a touch sternly. “I am ready to proceed whenever you are ready.”

“Sorry. I’m ready now.” 

The Goblin led her to a small room at the back of the shop, coming out minutes later only to usher her away and call for Harry.

“We could have just done it out here.” Parvati said, reaching up to touch an earring, “But I suppose I might feel differently if we weren’t the only ones in the store.”

She noticed Lavender’s staring and pointed first at the single golden stud in her right ear, “To show that I am from the main line of an Ancient House.” She then indicated the small diamond stud at the top of her ear, nestled with the shell. “The placement is to indicate that I have a gift, the colour of the diamond indicates what it might be. People will actually have to talk to me to find out the specifics I suppose.” She frowned, but Lavender knew she was quite proud of her Gift. It was the idea that people would engage with her purely because she had one that irritated her, she had no wish to be _hunted_.

Lavender was somewhat fascinated; it’d been years since she’d looked into whether any of this would apply to her. It hadn’t, so she’d promptly forgotten all about it, despite that fact that it might have been advantageous to know a little more about her fellow Applicants.

“What about Harry?”

“A stud, for the Potters, given that they’re both Ancient and Noble and I’m the last one.” The boy in question said from behind them, being just as quick as Parvati to enter and then exit the side room.

He flicked the hoop just below it, “A hoop, for one of the Sacred twenty-eight. The Blacks.” He said, before either of his friends could ask. “I’m not from the main line, but neither is anyone else currently living.” He ignored their speculative looks. “The diamond of course is for my _Gift_.”

“And the two studs in your other ear?” Lavender asked. 

“To show that he carries the heirships over” Parvati said slowly. “Which would mean that-”

“Yes, _truly_ fascinating.” Harry said dryly . “Except that I’ll be giving the Black Lordship to whatever fool is lucky enough to win me over.”

“But...how?” She asked. “We all thought Malfoy would inherit it. His mother was a Black, which is a degree closer than your Grandmother.”

“True” Harry agreed, “except that the last Black Lord made me his blood-appointed heir, so technically, I have a Black Parent too. _Technically_.”

“How...this is going to cause more of a stir than your little red diamond,” Lavender pursed her lips, “but...you already know that.”

“Of course I did.”

He pressed his wand to the counter when the goblin waved him forward, ignoring Parvati once again when she attempted to pay for her own expenses. Parvati could afford a yellow diamond like the Weaselys could afford new _anything_ ; meaning it was possible, but financially inadvisable, especially with her trust fund completely inaccessible.

“Pay me back when you run a monopoly on rune-wards in Britain” he said dismissively. “I’ll take 10% interest if it makes you feel better.”

“Harry-”

“And buy lunch, I’m famished.”

“ _Harry_ -”

“Many thanks Master Finlock! Good tidings!” called Harry, waving a hand carelessly behind him as he chivied the girls out of the shop. 

“To you as well, Blood Lord.” The goblin muttered, eyeing their empty shop.

“And good hunting.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for abrupt ending. The original ending wouldn't work, and I wanted to finish and post the chapter tonight while I had a good flow going, but now I'm too tired to try and re-work it again. 
> 
> Next chapter: Harry meets with people who've wanted to contract his services for quite some time, despite his elusiveness; he has some fun with it.


End file.
